


I Found

by the_duck_bride



Category: the GazettE
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Ballet Dancer Ruki, Budding Love, Dancer AU, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Slice of Life, Use of Real Names, Young Love, smut in later chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_duck_bride/pseuds/the_duck_bride
Summary: Sometimes we don't always expect the people that we meet to have huge huge impacts on our lives. Sometimes they show up at the most inopportune times, or in the strangest of places. And Takanori certainly didn't expect the leather clad young man lingering outside the conbini in search of a lighter to have such a profound affect on his life.Seriously... that arsehole really threw a spanner in the works of his perfectly organised life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot. But... well... it turned into much more than that because it just kept going and going and going... But well, here we are. This fic was originally inspired by the song 'I Found' by Amber Run (hence the title). The music video really has nothing to do with anything, but the lyrics of the song do. 
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta - KaiButsu13. She did an amazing job of beta-ing this monster all at once. She's amazing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Stop, stop.”

 

The music cut off, Ms. Nakamara having paused the iPod and the song along with it as she tapped her foot against the ground, looking rather irritated. “Your plié is still off time, hence your jumps are off time as well. Takanori, I thought we were past this,” the woman said curtly, raising a thin eyebrow at the young dancer.

 

Takanori, the young ballet dancer who so many believed had a lot of potential, bowed his head to his teacher. “I’m sorry, madam,” he said, excusing himself. “I’m just a little off today… I need some more time to practice and I promise that next time you see me my plié and my ballon will be perfect. I swear,” Takanori said, staring up at the woman hopefully. He really couldn’t afford to mess this up…

 

“They’d better be,” the woman threatened, narrowing her eyes at Takanori with her lips drawn into a tight line. She was a little on the older side… but she was still quite fiercely beautiful and Takanori knew she could dance him under the floor. She had trained and performed in France and danced all across Europe and America. He was pretty sure she had even performed with the Russian ballet once or twice. She was a woman with a reputation and he had so much respect and admiration for her. Not to mention the fact that he was honoured to have her teach him one on one. She was just one of the many people he knew he wanted to impress and gain approval from. “I’ll expect nothing but perfection by the time I see you next week, yes?” She asked, although Takanori knew it wasn’t _really_ a question.

 

He nodded, bowing once more in what was kind of… a plié mixed with a bow. “Yes, of course, madam. I’ll practice every single day for as long as I need to,” Takanori said, coming to stand straight once more only to be met with a stone cold expression.

 

“You mean that is something you don’t do already?” Ms. Nakamara questioned, her hawk-like eyes piercing the young dancer to his very core and making his eyes widen a little at the meaning she must have taken from what he said. He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off with a thin, pointed hand held up in a ‘stop’ signal. “You should be doing that anyway. You should be practicing until your feet bleed and your toes bruise. How else do you think you’re going to get anywhere? You work hard, Takanori. But you do not have any natural talent,” she snapped, hands on her thin hips. “ _Don’t_ get cocky and think that you do not need to practice as much. If anything you need to practice twice as much as the rest of the students here to make sure you keep up.”

 

Ms. Nakamara’s words stung, but he knew that they were true. He didn’t have a natural talent for dancing… it was something he had worked hard at for years and years. It seemed dramatic, but he really had poured his blood, sweat and tears into this art and he didn’t want to give it up or get lazy. In truth, he really did practice for hours on end every single day, often forgoing sleep in order to perfect his programme. But he knew it wasn’t enough, he needed to do more.

 

“We are done here,” Mr. Nakamara stated, sticking her chest out a little as she huffed. “If you cannot get something as simple and fundamentally important as a plié right then we’ve no more work to do today.” She was cutting their rehearsal short by more than half an hour… but Takanori supposed she was right. “I don’t need to waste my time teaching you something children as young as three can do. I expect much more next time, Takanori.”

 

With that, Ms. Nakamara left, leaving Takanori in the studio alone with his thoughts and it was safe to say that he was feeling quite disappointed in himself. He was used to people telling him that he needed to practice more or reminding him that he was only there because of the scholarship he had scratched and clawed his way to after he’d graduated high school. But no one had scolded him the way Ms. Nakamara had in quite a while, so it left him feeling rather dejected. Although at the same time, it did also light a bit of a fire under his arse, making him want to prove to the Prima Ballerina that he could be just as good as the rest despite the fact that he had no natural talent for dancing.

 

*            *            *

 

Takanori practiced well into the night, picking apart every single little piece of his performance; every jump, every plié, every single tiny detail. It still wasn’t perfect yet, but he had another week before he was due to meet with Ms. Nakamara so he had time. But at least now he was fairly sure he was on time with everything and there was no delay. He was going to get this performance perfect!

 

The sun had well and truly set by the time Takanori packed up his bag, changing his clothes and slipping his sore feet out of his ballet shoes and into something a little more comfortable. There was no one left in the studio apart from the janitor who Takanori smiled and nodded to. The dark haired man was fairly sure he was the only one who ever acknowledged the poor guy. Takanori kind of felt sorry for him, but he always smiled and that made Takanori think that he didn’t really dislike where he was at. So what more could the small man really think? The guy seemed happy, at least…

 

The lights flicked off behind Takanori as he exited onto the quiet street outside the studio. The light of the young dancer’s phone illuminated the space in front of his face and he winced a little at the brightness. The device informed him that it was a little past one in the morning. Takanori had to get up in about five hours to go to work and that five hours included the hour it took for him to get home. So really… by the time he got home and showered and got settled he’d only be able to sleep about three hours before he had to leave for a nice long twelve hour shift at the restaurant. But he didn’t mind so much… as long as it meant that this dance programme ended up perfect the lack of sleep was completely worth it.

 

Takanori’s breath came out in puffs of white clouds as he shuffled along the sidewalk. It was too late to get the train so he’d need to walk home; he didn’t live that far from the studio so it wasn’t that long of a walk, but he was fucking freezing and the studio wasn’t in the most wonderful of neighbourhoods. Takanori had come up against some pretty questionable people in the past, hence he was always kind of weary whenever he ran into someone around there.

 

Wrapping his scarf a little tighter around his neck, Takanori scampered down the street; he could hear voices from an alley not too far away from him and it made him a little nervous. He knew the types of people who hung around in alleys like that. Nine times out of ten there was some kind of sketchy bar down there where the alcohol was cheap and deadbeats liked to hang out. Takanori did his best to avoid deadbeats, since most of the time they only ended up being trouble. Actually, scratch that. Not _most_ of the time, _all_ of the time. The young dancer had never met a deadbeat he actually thought was worth any kind of effort and time. Some might call him prejudiced for thinking that way, but deadbeats were deadbeats for a reason. They never put in any fucking effort! If someone put no effort into anything, didn’t look for a job, didn’t contribute… anything, Takanori didn’t want anything to do with them!

 

Nevertheless, moral of the story was that Takanori hurried past that alleyway pretty fast, attempting to ignore the sound of drunken men. Takanori pulled up his scarf, covering his nose as he shivered and shuffled on past the twenty-four hour conbini he often stopped at to buy a warm drink. Tonight was no different; he stepped into the store and sighed at the warmth that enveloped him. Takanori grabbed his customary warm milk tea off of the heated rack, paid his 220 yen for it and stepped back out onto the street.

 

Although, there was a man standing there that hadn’t been there before. Usually he wouldn’t have paid any attention to some random guy outside a conbini in the middle of Tokyo. But this guy looked like someone Takanori would actively avoid, and this particular guy was rugged up in tight jeans, a leather jacket, black scarf and a beanie over hair bleached so light it looked like it might snap off. He was rifling through his pockets, grunting around the unlit cigarette he held between his slightly chapped lips. When the guy glanced up, he caught Takanori staring and rose his eyebrow. “You got a light?” He grunted, eyeing Takanori eyeing him.

 

“A light?” Takanori echoed.

 

“A lighter, genius,” the guy said, lifting his head a little more and pulling his hands out of his pockets. “For my smoke?” He spoke to Takanori like he was an idiot and that instantly put the young dancer in a bad mood.

 

“I do…” Takanori said, eyes slightly narrowed at the leather-clad stranger. “Only if you’ve got a smoke for me.” That seemed like a fair trade to him. A light for a smoke! Takanori hadn’t smoked consistently in almost two years, but occasionally he slipped up and had one. Tonight was one of those nights. After the rehearsal he’d had with Ms. Nakamara today he felt like he really needed one.

 

Mr. Biker-Man eyed Takanori for a moment before he huffed in amusement and reached into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a pack of smokes. “Deal, Princess,” he said, tossing Takanori the packet, who unfortunately dropped it as well as the fucking tea he had been holding!

 

“Don’t call me that,” Takanori huffed, bending down to pick up the tea and the smokes, pulling one out and sticking it between his lips. He slipped his tea into his shoulder bag in exchange for his lighter, which he used to light up his own smoke before he tossed it to Mr. Biker-Man – purposefully bad – hoping that the guy would do the same as him and drop it. He didn’t, which irritated Takanori even more.

 

“Thanks,” the guy said, lighting his smoke and handing the lighter back to Takanori who swapped the lighter for the packet of smokes which he slid back into his pocket. “So what brings you out this late? I don’t usually see your type around at this time.”

 

“ _My type?_ ” Takanori repeated, brows furrowing as he blew out a breath of smoke into the frozen night air. “And what exactly do you mean by that? My type is just... regular.”

 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Mr. Biker-Man said, tapping his smoke, ash flicking onto the ground and instantly fizzling out against the cold, damp pavement. “Your type is normal, regular, whatever you wanna call it. You’re not usually out this late, only the drunks and the delinquents hang around this part of the city this late.”

 

Takanori shoved one hand into the pocket of his hoodie, frowning slightly at this nosey guy. “I was busy. And what about you? Which category do you fall under? The normals, the delinquents, or the drunks?” The guy didn’t _smell_ or _seem_ drunk, but some of them were just drunk so often it was normal for them. But Takanori felt like he was pretty good at telling whether or not someone was sloshed. The guy also didn’t look like a “normal” so he had to be a delinquent…

 

“Does it really matter?” Mr. Biker-Man asked, raising an eyebrow at Takanori.

 

“I guess not…” Takanori huffed, rolling his eyes. Why did he even care? Takanori didn’t know this dude, so it wasn’t really any of his business anyway. Yeah, he should just finish off his smoke and carry on his merry way… “Well, thanks for the cig,” the smaller man said, nodding to Mr. Biker-Man. “I’d say see you later, but I probably won’t. So…. Yeah.”

 

Takanori dropped his smoke on the ground and smooshed it out with the heel of his shoe before he looked back at Mr. Biker-Man, eyes roaming over him once before he pursed his lips and turned away. He didn’t get very far though before the guy called out to him. “Hey, what’s your name?” The guy asked, pushing off the wall he had been standing against, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

 

Takanori turned around, feet still carrying him backwards as he looked back at Mr. Biker-Man. “Does it really matter?” He asked, mimicking the guy’s question from only moments ago. The look on the guy’s face made Takanori smirk before he turned himself back around and continued on walking, raising a hand to wave his farewell before he disappeared around the corner, leaving a rather stunned Mr. Biker-Man standing in the chilly evening air outside the conbini.

 

*            *            *

 

Takanori spent the following week doing nothing but working, dancing, studying dance, more dancing and just a little more dancing. He was in the studio practice rooms every day, dancing until he felt like his toes were going to fall off, until he couldn’t bear to stand any longer. He was spending almost twelve hours a day in the studio; even on the days he had work he would come in afterwards or before and practice for at least four to six hours. Never in his life had Takanori felt so utterly exhausted. But by the time he saw Ms. Nakamara the following Wednesday night he had that routine absolutely perfect.

 

Ms. Nakamara, being the kind of dancer and teacher she was, found things to nit-pick. But she had been a whole lot nicer than she had the week before. She’d even gone as far as to tell Takanori that he had done well. “You may not have talent,” she’d said as she picked up her bag, readying herself to leave the room. “But at least you can work hard. I’ll see you next week, Takanori.”

 

Takanori had thanked her, bowed his head low and waited until she’d left the room before he lifted his head and sighed. His feet ached like they never had before and he was exhausted, he almost couldn’t bring himself to drag his sorry arse home. But he didn’t the academy would take too kindly to finding him sleeping in the room they needed to use for classes. That was the only reason Takanori packed up his gear and switched his dance shoes out for regular trainers, pulling sweatpants over his leggings and a long, faux fur lined jacket to protect himself against the freezing cold that he knew lurked outside. This was one of the coldest winters he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t say he _hated_ it… but it wasn’t the best either. But at least when it was cold he could put more clothes on, in the heat he could only take so many clothes off before it wasn’t socially acceptable anymore.

 

Takanori was the last one left in the studio tonight, as he so often was, so he turned off the lights he needed to, heading down to the ground level. As he left he activated the security code on the door before stepping out onto the street; except as soon as his trainer hit the cold pavement outside he stepped on patch of ice, falling flat on his bony little arse. “ _Fuck_!” He cursed as he went down, huffing as the wetness began to seep into his sweatpants as well as his leggings. This was just the last thing Takanori needed right now. Sighing, the small brunet picked himself up and tried to wipe the dampness off his arse but of course it wasn’t going anywhere so he gave up, instead making sure his jacket covered his behind so as to avoid looking like he’d had an… _accident_.

 

“That was probably the least graceful thing I’ve ever seen a ballerina do,” a voice said from behind Takanori and it sounded vaguely familiar.

 

Turning around, it took Takanori a moment to find him, but after a moment he spotted the familiar form of a young leather clad blond, black scarf wrapped around his neck as he held a cigarette between his pink lips. While his posture was rather relaxed, his eyes were looking rather amused; probably because of Takanori’s unfortunate meeting with the icy pavement. “You…” Takanori said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

 

“Yeah, me,” he said, putting out his cigarette on the ground before pushing off the wall he’d been standing against. He checked the road, making sure there were no cars coming before he jogged across said road, coming to a standstill in front of Takanori. “Didn’t expect to see you again, Princess. Or should I say Swan Princess?”

 

Takanori’s eyes narrowed even further, his brows furrowing. Obviously he understood the reference to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. It was also then that Takanori realised that Mr. Biker-Man had just called him a ballerina. “Don’t call me any of those things,” he said, frowning up at the guy. “What are you doing hanging around here anyway?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. “This isn’t really an area close to where you were hanging around last time, plus it’s kinda out of the way.” Takanori narrowed his eyes once more and pursed his lips. “Are you stalking me?”

 

Mr. Biker-Man snorted, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Hardly. My best friend lives in the apartment just there,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the building he’d been leaning against. “I just left his place and stopped for a smoke before I headed off.” Takanori hummed, nodding in understanding as he swayed on the spot, trying to get some kind of heat circulating through his body. “Which way are you headed?” Mr. Biker-Man asked, obviously having noticed the way Takanori was swaying and possibly even shivering.

 

“Back towards Yoyogi,” Takanori said, gesturing down the street.

 

“Me too,” the blond said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket before turning towards the main road a little ways back down the street. “You coming, Swan Princess?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at Takanori.

 

All he got in return was a grumble from the smaller man who fell into step beside him. “Stop calling me that. And Princess, and ballerina and… whatever other fucking name you can think of,” he said, glancing up at Mr. Biker-Man, who had pulled his scarf up over his nose after he’d finished his smoke,  leaving only his eyes peeking out over the top and they looked down at Takanori now, obviously amused.

 

“Well, you wouldn’t tell me your name. So I don’t really have anything else to call you,” he shrugged and just from looking at him Takanori could tell that he was smirking underneath that dumb scarf. “So…?” He prompted, wiggling his eyebrows at the smaller man.

 

The brunet sighed, face deadpanning a little as he shook his head and looked forward. It kind of looked like he wasn’t going to get out of this without telling this guy his name, not that it really mattered all that much. “It’s Takanori,” the smaller man said, looking back up at Mr. Biker-Man. “Now you’ve gotta tell me your name.” Because as suitable of a name as Mr. Biker-Man was it was kind of long-winded and Takanori would rather just use the guy’s name and only call him his nickname for emphasis.

 

The taller man chuckled as they arrived to the main strip of road which would lead them back towards the train station. Takanori didn’t need to go to the train station, but… well, he assumed that was where the biker guy was going considering he said he was headed back towards Yoyogi. “Akira,” the blond answered easily, shrugging his leather clad shoulders. “So, you go to that ballet place back there?” Akira asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he reached up to fix his scarf a little.

 

“Yeah,” Takanori answered. “I’m in my final year of schooling there. Like… college schooling, not high school schooling.” Because of his height and his soft appearance everyone seemed to think that he was in high school, not four years out of it.

 

“I figured as much,” Akira chuckled. “You’re a delicate little thing, but you don’t look like a kid.” Takanori looked up to see the corners of Akira’s eyes scrunched a little and the brunet imagined that Akira was smiling behind that scarf of his. “That’s kinda cool. My friend has lived across the road from that place for years and I don’t know that I’ve ever actually seen a guy walk out of there. I’m sure there probably are,” Akira shrugged. “But I’ve never seen any.”

 

Takanori paused in his path, waiting at a crosswalk for the little man to turn green and signal them to walk across the street. Takanori turned to face Akira, eyebrows raised slightly, but he supposed the taller man had a point. “I mean… there aren’t many of us,” he shrugged, pursing his lips slightly. “And even the guys that do go there aren’t doing full-time schooling. My aim is to get into the National Ballet of Japan. Even though that school is prestigious, not everyone there has their sights set so high. I’m also in one of the advanced classes, which is mainly girls, so…” Takanori shrugged his shoulders, realising he was rambling. “Anyway… Yeah, the moral of the story is there aren’t a lot of guys.”

 

“Damn… You must be passionate about dancing,” Akira said, raising his eyebrows at the brunet who merely shrugged and nodded. “You must be pretty damn good too, to be in one of the advanced classes and have a shot at the National ranks.” Takanori merely shrugged again. That was a hard thing to believe when his teachers were constantly telling him that he needed to be better, do better, try harder, practice longer… “Oh come on,” Akira huffed. “Don’t be so modest. You’re obviously good or you wouldn’t be where you are now. Right?”

 

Takanori frowned and looked up at the blond biker-looking guy. “Yeah, I suppose... I could be better though. I just have to keep rehearsing.” The little green man lit up and the beeping signalled for them to begin walking across the road, which Takanori was thankful for and he began to head across the street. “I can’t expect to succeed if I don’t practice every day,” he said, slowing a little to let Akira lead the way.

 

The pair swapped casual chit-chat along the way to Yoyogi train station; Akira talked about what he did, which was work in a small antique store. That was something that had kind of shocked Takanori, to be totally honest. Akira had such a harsh look and a loud personality, the brunet had assumed he might work somewhere like a mechanic or maybe even some kind of… shady gang business guy or… something. But no, an antique shop was the last thing Takanori expected, but it was really interesting. He did own a motorbike though, so that was at least something that matched up to what Takanori thought about him. Beyond that Akira actually seemed like a pretty damn normal guy and well, that just went to show that you really couldn’t judge a book by its cover.

 

Once they reached the train station’s entrance Akira slowed to a stop, as did Takanori and they turned to face each other in what would probably be a kind of awkward goodbye. Because, really… what was supposed to happen now? Were they friends? Were they supposed to go and meet up again? Were they just gonna pass this off as a nice little stroll and conversation? Takanori hated shit like this, it was so ambiguous. “Well, I guess this is your stop?” Akira asked, eyebrows raised as he reached up to fix his scarf for about the millionth time since they’d started to walk.

 

“My stop?” Takanori echoed, blinking and looking up at the entrance to the station before he looked back at Akira. “No… My apartment is about three streets back,” he said with a nervous little laugh as he made a vague gesture with his hand in the direction they’d just come from. “I thought… this was your stop… That’s why I kept walking this way.” Well, this was getting awkward. Just like Takanori had thought it would. Had they seriously been walking to Yoyogi station for no particular reason?

 

The corners of Akira’s eyes crinkled a little as he laughed behind that stupid scarf. “Damn,” Akira laughed. “And I thought I was being a nice guy. I’m actually not heading towards Yoyogi at all. I live back towards Roppongi. I just figured it probably wasn’t safe for you to be heading home so late on your own. Not that I don’t think you could handle yourself, I just know these streets and they aren’t really safe for _anyone_ at this time.” Akira continued to chuckle as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well this… is quite awkward,” the blond chuckled.

 

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Takanori grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears beginning to heat up with embarrassment as he tried to look anywhere but at Akira. Man… he really did some stupid shit sometimes. Well, this was what he got for trying to be a nice guy; from now on he was just going to be an utter arsehole and only look out for himself! (But he already knew that was utter bullshit, because he was just far too nice for his own good).

 

After a few awkward moments of silence, Akira reached out and clasped a hand on his slim shoulder, turning him back around. “Alright then, come on,” he said with a small chuckle. “I’ll walk you to your _actual_ apartment now.” Takanori merely stayed quiet as he let Akira lead him back from where they’d come. By now his face was thoroughly burning and he was pretty sure he didn’t even look like he was blushing anymore; instead it probably looked like he had just spent the last three days out in the sun and had gotten horribly sunburnt. But luckily it was dark and it appeared as though Akira couldn’t see his face, which was a relief.


	2. Chapter 2

Akira walked Takanori up to his front door where the smaller man stopped on his doorstep and turned around to face the blond. “Well, this is it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and offering Akira a small, rather awkward, half-smile. His cheeks still felt a little warm but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the cold or because of their embarrassing little predicament; though it seemed as though Akira had been able to move on rather easily. Much to Takanori’s chagrin.

 

“You live here on your own?” Akira asked, looking at Takanori’s door over the brunet’s shoulder before looking back at said brunet. Takanori knew the place was nothing flashy, but it did well enough. “How can you afford it?”

 

“Actually… my scholarship pays for my accommodation,” Takanori said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket to try and warm up his cold hands. Honestly, he felt like his fingers were about to fucking fall off. “There are a couple of students who live in this building. It’s just a little studio apartment with a kitchen and bathroom. But it’s fine for me,” Takanori shrugged. “It’s just me after all.”

 

“Oh really?” Akira raised his eyebrows at that, humming quietly, and Takanori swore he could see a little smirk behind that scarf of his. That scarf was honestly beginning to give Takanori the shits; all he wanted to do was tear it off the blond man’s face so he’d actually be able to see his expressions properly! “No girlfriend?” The blond man asked and that made Takanori almost choke on absolutely nothing.

 

“G-girlfriend?!” He asked, brows raised so high he thought they might actually fly off his fucking forehead. “No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head vigorously as well as waving his hands about like an utter loon. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” In fact… the idea of a girlfriend made the smaller man feel a little queasy. Sure, girls were fine. Takanori wasn’t some kind of misogynist. There was nothing _wrong_ with girls, per se. He just really wasn’t interested in anything that was under their clothes, or anything to do with them romantically. Yeah, no. Absolutely not.

 

Tilting his head back, Akira’s shoulders shook as he let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing through the stairwell and making Takanori’s cheeks heat up once more as he glared at the blond. “Alright, no girlfriend,” Akira said, small bouts of laughter still bubbling up from his broad chest. “Perhaps a boyfriend, then?” He asked, one eyebrow arched inquisitively.

 

If Takanori thought his face couldn’t get even redder he was _sorely_ mistaken, because as soon as Akira asked him about a boyfriend he was right back to that… three days outside sunburnt look and he cleared his throat, straightening a little bit. “Alright, I think it’s time you go home and I go inside for a shower before I freeze to death. Thanks for walking me home, Akira,” Takanori rushed to finish, reaching to fish his house key out of his bag before Akira could squeeze in any more conversation.

 

No such luck though.

 

“Oh, no,” Akira stopped him by grasping his upper arm, just above his elbow, to which Takanori groaned. “Don’t think you’re getting away so easy,” the blond man chuckled, drawing Takanori back towards him. “So you _do_ have a boyfriend?” Akira pushed, leaning down a little so he could get a better look at Takanori’s face as the smaller man tried to turn it away. In the light of the stairwell Takanori was sure that Akira could see how red his face was and it made the dancer grunt.

 

“No, I do not,” he huffed, looking up at Akira from beneath his fringe. “Now what?” Takanori asked suspiciously. “You’re gonna… beat me up or something like that? Get your gang after me? Run me down with your motorbike?”

 

The brunet listed off a bunch more possibilities, but all that did was make Akira’s brow go from raised to furrowed rather quickly. “No…” He eventually said once Takanori had finished listing off all of the ways that Akira could possibly harm him or kill him or humiliate him. “I’m not going to do any of that. It’d be a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Akira asked, arching one eyebrow at the smaller man.

 

It took a moment for Akira’s implication to sink into Takanori’s brain, but when it did the smaller man gawked slightly, his eyes widening as he blinked up at Akira. “Wait… You mean… you’re…?” Fuck, he could hardly get a single word out without having to restart his sentence and try again. Honestly, what was going on with him? He never got this flustered! But he supposed he just wasn’t used to meeting people like himself. But was Akira really… gay as well?

 

“I swing that way, yeah,” Akira chuckled, letting go of Takanori’s arm to lean back a little, the corners of his eyes crinkled a little as he smiled behind his scarf. “To be honest I swing both ways. Is that really so hard to believe?” Honestly, Takanori couldn’t even respond right now, his mouth just hung open as he stared up at Akira. “Careful, Princess,” Akira hummed, lifting a hand to slide his finger beneath Takanori’s chin in order to push it up a little, thus closing his mouth. “You’ll catch flies like that.”

 

Inhaling, Takanori watched Akira lean back a little further and drop his hand once more. Although instead of just waiting for the smaller man to reply, Takanori watched as he pulled out a pen from his back pocket – lord knows why the hell he kept a pen back there – and grabbed Takanori’s hand. Still, all Takanori could do was stand and watch as Akira picked up one of his limp hands and proceeded to write down a string of numbers on his pale skin.

 

“My number, Princess,” Akira said, shoving the pen back into his pocket before he took another little step back. “You should text me or call me sometime.” The blond shrugged his shoulders, before he began to descend the stairs once more. “See you around, Takanori,” Akira said, eyes crinkling once more before he turned around fully and left the rather stunned dancer on his own doorstep looking like an utter fool as he stared straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

 

Well, that was certainly a new development.

 

*            *            *

 

In the end, Takanori did end up texting Akira and they chatted back and forth for about a week before the blond just _happened_ to be waiting outside the dance academy one night when Takanori finished late; leaned up against the wall, wrapped in his trademark leather jacket as per every other time Takanori had seen him. Akira had insisted that he’d just been visiting his friend again, but Takanori found that kind of hard to believe. But he didn’t let it sit with him for too long. He knew that if he thought too much and tried to make sense out of the situation he might end up losing his mind. So he just went with it until Akira waiting outside the studio two or three times a week to walk him home became the norm.

 

Takanori never really understood it, considering Akira’s apartment was so far in the other direction. But every time Akira just insisted that it was fine and that it wasn’t always safe around where Takanori lived, despite the fact that he’d been living there for almost two years prior to meeting the mysterious blond biker man. It just seemed easier not to question Akira though, because it seemed as though if he wanted to do something, he would do it anyway; regardless of what Takanori said whether it be a protest or not.

 

Eventually there wasn’t really a day that went by when Takanori didn’t have some kind of conversation with Akira. He’d even managed to weasel out the details of where Akira worked and went to visit him on one of his rare off days. The store Akira worked in was small and quaint; run by an old man who mostly just sat in the back and polished his coin collection that was probably worth a damn good price. But from what Takanori saw of him, he didn’t seem like he’d part with them. Either way, with the old man in the back it was basically up to Akira to run the entire store. But it wasn’t that hard, apparently. Akira just spent most of his time behind the front desk playing mobile phone games and texting his friends.

 

Slowly but surely, the months grew colder and colder and eventually a light dusting of snow scattered over the sidewalk and the buildings when Takanori left the studio late one night. Of course, there was Akira, waiting across the street for him under that same light post, cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. Although… this time there was something different about him. This time he wasn’t clad in his usual leather jacket, instead all he wore was a thin looking hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head – but that didn’t stop a few bleached strands of hair from poking out the sides. As always, he had his scarf wrapped around his neck, but he certainly didn’t look warm.

 

“What the hell are you wearing?” Takanori asked as he carefully jogged across the street, watching out for any slippery patches on the road.

 

“Nice to see you too, Princess,” Akira chuckled; he never really had dropped that nickname in the months they’d known each other. Akira also did like to make jokes every now and then about Takanori’s dancing, calling him the Swan Princess or whatever else came to mind. Takanori didn’t really mind, he knew Akira meant no harm by the little jabs and it was all in good fun. So he let it slide. “Come on, let’s go. I’m freezing my balls off.”

 

“Charming,” Takanori snorted as he turned and began walking in the direction of his apartment. As he walked his shoulder brushed Akira’s and he smiled a little. In the past few months he and Akira really had grown a lot closer together. The dancer considered the taller man to be one of his best friends by now. And it was nice to know someone who he could relate to in terms of, like… relationships and stuff as well. Takanori didn’t really know anyone like himself. So it was nice.

 

Although… with that came the fact that Akira was also incredibly attractive and it was hard for Takanori not to notice that. But so far Akira hadn’t really shown any kind of interest in him either. So that just left Takanori to figure that Akira wasn’t interested him. Hence he had discarded the possibility of Akira and him ever being a thing, besides… it wasn’t like he really had much time for anything romantic anyway, considering he was usually so busy with work and school and dance. Takanori didn’t really have the mental capacity to handle anything else. If he tried he feared his brain might explode.

 

“So where’s your jacket?” Takanori asked as they neared his apartment, the smaller of the pair being able to spot the building about a hundred metres in front of them. Oh man, as soon as he got inside he was going to crank that heater so high. He didn’t even care about the extra costs on his power bill! It was fucking _cold_. Then he was going to run himself a hot bath and make a cup of tea and settle down under like… five blankets! One of the disadvantages of being so small; he got cold _really_ fucking easy.

 

“Ah, you don’t need to worry about it,” Akira shrugged, glancing down at Takanori with a little smile on his lips before he looked back up at the street. However, it wasn’t like Akira to deflect such a simple question, hence Takanori was instantly suspicious.

 

“But you love that jacket, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you without it. And it’s not like you to be forgetful, so there’s no way you could have left it at home; unless you had some kind of brain aneurism,” Takanori babbled on, doing that thing he did when he listed off a whole bunch of possibilities about a situation that were hardly ever true. He knew it wasn’t Akira’s favourite thing about him… but the blond usually put up with it.

 

“Takanori,” Akira grumbled, the frown evident in his voice without having to look up and see it on his face. “I said leave it,” he said. The tone of voice he used was one Takanori wasn’t sure he had _ever_ heard Akira use. It was deep, commanding, dominant, dark; all the things Akira’s appearance scream but his personality contradicted. It made the smaller man frown as he looked up at Akira.

 

It was only now that they had entered the light that the stairwell of Takanori’s apartment building provided that he noticed a small bruise at the corner of Akira’s lips. “Akira… did someone attack you?” Takanori asked, reaching out to touch the small blemish, only to have Akira jerk his head away and look the other way, mumbling about it being nothing. “No, it’s not nothing, look at me,” Takanori demanded, stepping closer and pulling Akira’s chin around to face him. Sure enough, there was a little bit of dried blood near his chin. How had Takanori not noticed that before? The dancer was quiet for a few moments, pursing his lips before he sighed and grasped the sleeve of Akira’s hoodie. “Come on.”

 

Without further explanation, Takanori began to climb the stairs of his apartment building, making a beeline for his door and ignoring Akira’s quiet protests behind him. If there was one thing Akira should have learned about him by now, it was that Takanori was _just_ as stubborn as he was. Unlocking his apartment, Takanori lead Akira inside, shutting and locking the door behind them. He still protested, his tone exasperated and withdrawn, as if he knew nothing he said was going to change the brunet’s mind.

 

“Stop your whining,” Takanori huffed as he sat Akira down on his couch before disappearing into the bathroom. “You know you’re not going to win so why are you even bothering?” Coming back into the main room of his small apartment, Takanori set a little first aid box down on the coffee table, opening it up to begin picking through it.

 

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Akira continued nonetheless, frowning down at the little box on the table. His protests, as expected, fell on deaf ears. “I’m a big boy, Takanori. I can take care of myself. Besides, you should see the other guy,” the blond chuckled.

 

“Akira. Shut up,” Takanori sighed. Although the tone of his voice remained light as he pulled out an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and turned towards the blond. “So they punched you and stole your jacket?” Takanori asked as he grasped Akira’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to begin gently dabbing at the small cut near the corner of his lips. Thankfully, that seemed to be the only visible injury Akira had sustained. So either these muggers were terrible at what they did or Akira gave in far too easily.

 

“Actually… that’s not quite how it happened,” he said, looking a little sheepish and Takanori frowned as he pulled back a little, the look on his face encouraging Akira to explain further. “Well, I was at my friend’s place last night and we got kind of wasted. We were playing a game of poker and I got a little too cocky. I threw in my jacket, because I thought I had a winning hand. I had Four of a Kind. Pretty damn high, right?” Akira huffed. “I was so ready to win and when the round ended and I threw down my cards, my arsehole friend had a fuckin’ Royal Flush! So obviously I was pretty pissed, I tried to take my jacket back and the dick took a fucking swing at me,” the blond grumbled. “So… yeah. That’s what happened.”

 

Takanori merely sat there for a moment, hands in his lap and a dumbfounded expression on his face. All he could do was blink at Akira before he frowned and swung his arm out, landing a punch on the blond’s arm. “You arsehole!” Takanori yelled, his nose scrunched up a little in irritation.

 

“Ow! What?” Akira asked, cradling his arm where Takanori had hit him. “First you wanna clean me up and now you’re punching me as well. What the hell’s that about?” the blond grumbled, rubbing his arm. “Damn, for such a tiny thing you really do hit hard…”

 

“You scared me, you dick,” Takanori said, sitting back and tossing the used wipe onto the coffee table beside the forgotten first aid kit. “I thought someone had attacked you and fucking mugged you or something like that. Or that maybe some rival gang member was out to get you, or-”

 

“Taka, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not in a damn gang?” Akira asked, shaking his head and chuckling quietly as he rubbed his arm. “Really though, I’m fine. Just drunken antics, I’m sure I can find myself another leather jacket. They’re not _that_ hard to come by,” Akira assured him, giving Takanori that smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he nudged the smaller man with his elbow. “Hey, wanna turn the heating on in this place? It’s freakin’ freezing. And my balls aren’t getting any warmer,” Akira grinned.

 

Apparently Akira really had no problems making himself quite at home. Takanori had hardly just gotten back from turning on the heater when he found Akira already leaning back into the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.“Oh sure, make yourself at home, kick your feet up. Why don’t you take my bed while you’re at it?” Takanori scoffed, slapping Akira’s shins as he plopped himself down next to the blond. “Feet down.”

 

Akira grunted, rolling his eyes as he dropped his feet back onto the ground before he cast Takanori a sidelong glance. “Actually, do you mind if I stay the night?” Akira asked, raising his eyebrows a little in what Takanori thought was probably supposed to be some kind of pleading look. “It’s getting really late and cold out, and I don’t really have much to wear home,” Akira pointed out.

 

Takanori pressed his lips together as a slight frown twitched at his brows. This was new… Takanori and Akira got along well and they were good friends, but Takanori hadn’t ever really let Akira into his apartment before nor had he ever been to Akira’s apartment. So it was just a given that Akira hadn’t ever stayed over at Takanori’s place before. He really wasn’t sure how he felt about that; he was sure Akira didn’t have any kind of ill intention. But… what if something happened? Takanori looked like shit in the morning! What if he scared Akira and then he never wanted to see Takanori ever again? That was very much a possibility! Takanori wasn’t sure he was ready to handle that.

 

“Um… yeah, I suppose that’s ok,” Takanori said despite his better judgement. He couldn’t very well make Akira go out in the cold! And he was right, it was getting pretty late and Takanori figured the trains would probably stop running soon. So Akira wouldn’t have a way to get home, considering he used the trains most of the time. “I don’t have a futon though… so you can take my bed if you want. I’m small enough that I can probably fit on the couch comfortably enough,” the brunet shrugged. He could afford to give up his bed for one night, especially for poor Akira who had lost his precious leather jacket in a dumb poker match.

 

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind taking the couch,” Akira said, planting his feet on the floor and sitting forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I don’t wanna kick you out of your own bed.”

 

Takanori raised one of his eyebrows before he shook his head and laughed, much to Akira’s apparent confusion. “Akira, there is absolutely no way you’re going to be able to fit your gangly fucking legs on my little couch. It’s fine,” Takanori said, patting Akira’s knee before he got up off the couch and began meandering about. It was getting pretty late, nearing 1am, and Takanori had to be at the studio early in the morning! So he set about getting himself ready for bed, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from his chest of drawers before heading into the bathroom to change.

 

By the time he came out, having taken a quick shower, washed his face and brushed his hair, Akira had already made himself even more comfortable. He’d sat himself down on the edge of Takanori’s bed, having removed his shirt and his jeans, leaving him in only his boxers. Takanori felt his cheeks flush a little, but he ignored it and headed over to the cupboard, pulling out a blanket and a spare pillow for himself before he dumped them on the couch.

 

“Alright… well you look like you’re all set,” Takanori said, chuckling as he turned his lamp on beside the bed and wandered back over to his couch. It really wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world… in fact, it was kind of lumpy and a little uncomfortable, but he made do, putting the pillow beneath his head and pulling the blanket up over himself. “Just turn the lamp off whenever you’re ready. But don’t stay up too late, I’m getting up early tomorrow.”

 

Takanori heard Akira chuckle from the bed, mumbling something about ‘getting it, Princess’, but the brunet ignored him, instead shutting his eyes and rolling onto his side, trying to somehow get comfortable enough to fall asleep. He could hear Akira behind him getting comfortable in his nice warm bed and Takanori couldn’t help but sigh, frowning as he wiggled about once more. But no matter how much he tried he just couldn’t seem to get himself comfortable. He tossed and turned and flopped and even sat up at one point in time to completely readjust himself so that he was lying on his stomach. But _nothing_ he did was good enough; he just _could not_ get comfortable.

 

After what felt like the tenth hour of tossing and turning and flopping Takanori finally heard Akira sigh from the bed behind him. “Takanori,” the blond grunted quietly, making Takanori pause in his shifting. “Just come up here, would you?”

 

Opening his eyes once more, Takanori sat up and glanced over the back of the couch at the dark shape on his bed. Akira hadn’t even bothered to look at him and Takanori chewed his bottom lip as he contemplated for a moment. However, before Takanori really had much of a chance to think about it anymore, Akira called him over once more and not wanting to piss off his guest, Takanori shifted off the couch and shuffled over to the bed as Akira moved closer to the wall to make space for him. Takanori mumbled a small thanks as he crawled into bed and slipped beneath the covers. His feet brushed Akira’s as he lay down and got comfortable, sighing contentedly at the softness of his bed.

 

“Better?” Akira asked, laying so close Takanori could feel the blond’s breath brush his ear.

 

Chuckling, Takanori rolled onto his side, tucking his hand beneath his head, and looking at Akira’s sleepy face through the darkness of the room; his eyes having adjusted long ago. “Yeah, much,” he said, shaking his head a little. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t thank me, you weirdo,” Akira laughed. “It’s your bed.”

 

Takanori could only hum as he shut his eyes, finally feeling like he could fall asleep. However… he couldn’t. Now that he was lying in bed he couldn’t help but feel the heat of Akira’s body so close to his, the blond’s quiet breaths just in front of his face, brushing his cheeks. Takanori frowned, blinking eyes open once more to look at Akira’s relaxed expression. Takanori didn’t think he was into Akira in that way, but… well, let’s just say it’d been a while since he’d gotten any. And it was hard for him not to notice when there was an attractive man lying so close to him, especially one who also happened to like boys! It was annoying to say the least.

 

“Akira?” Takanori murmured, receiving a quiet grunt in answer from the blond who cracked his eyes open a little, meeting Takanori’s own. “… nothing, don’t worry about it,” he sighed after a minute. “Go to sleep.”

 

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Akira asked, doing the opposite of what Takanori had said and opening his eyes all the way. “But you’re making it very difficult to do that with your constant moving and staring…”

 

“…Sorry,” Takanori murmured, chuckling sheepishly, toes brushing Akira’s ankle beneath the duvet.

 

A deep chuckle rumbled from Akira’s chest and Takanori saw him shake his head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Akira asked, but before Takanori really got a chance to answer him Akira was leaning in, his lips brushing Takanori’s in a firm and yet gentle kiss, startling the smaller man. Takanori made a small noise of shock, his hand coming to rest against the blond’s chest where he could feel the beat of Akira’s heart. There was a small pause, a slight bit of hesitance on Akira’s part and he opened his eyes, searching Takanori’s face for a moment before he leaned in for another, slightly firmer kiss, his hand finding Takanori’s hip beneath the covers.

 

The feeling that spread through Takanori’s body was warm, sending sparks right from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He felt hot and buzzed as Akira’s hand curled a little tighter against his hip, pulling him in more and Takanori sighed, hand sliding from Akira’s chest to the back of his neck where he tangled his fingers into bleach blond locks. Secretly, Takanori had always wanted to run his fingers through Akira’s hair, to feel what it was like and, surprisingly, it was a lot softer than he had thought it would be. Being so bleached Takanori had thought it would feel brittle and hard, but Akira’s hair was silky and smooth and it slipped through Takanori’s fingers like a dream.

 

The smaller man’s leg found its way to Akira’s hip, hooking over his thigh and Akira took the liberty of sliding his hand under said thigh, using it to tug Takanori close enough so that their hips came into contact. Gasping against Akira’s lips, Takanori pulled back a little, just enough to look at the blond as soft breaths fell from his lips before he dove back in, fingers tangling in Akira’s hair once more as that hand crept around, groping at his arse and making the brunet groan into their kiss.

 

The pair began to shed their clothes in a flurry of hands and limbs and rushed kisses that were only interrupted by Takanori’s shirt slipping over his head and hands pushing down boxers and pyjama pants. Before long, Takanori sat atop Akira’s hips, his cock pressed firmly against Akira’s own, trapped between their abdomens. Akira’s lips sealed against Takanori’s neck, kissing and nibbling as his hands kneaded Takanori’s arse. Takanori moaned, nibbling on his bottom lip as he pushed his hips down against Akira’s, breathing out his name.

 

“Fuck, Akira… I…” Takanori moaned, sitting up a little and pulling away from Akira’s mouth, much to the blond’s apparent displeasure as he tried to follow the brunet’s pale skin with his lips. Leaning down, Takanori pressed a kiss to Akira’s lips before he sat up again, beginning to descend Akira’s body. And what a wonderful body it was. Akira was toned, but not overly muscley, he had just the slightest hint of abs, his hips were well defined and he had that tempting V that lead down towards his crotch. Takanori followed that V with his lips, dotting his tongue out to taste the blond’s skin. “I wanna suck you off so fucking bad,” Takanori breathed, taking Akira’s cock in his hand, stroking slowly as he pressed his lips to the head. “So big…”

 

“Oh fuck…” Akira groaned, his hand tangling in Takanori’s hair as the brunet took Akira’s cock into his mouth, sealing his lips around the large girth and sliding down over it. Takanori was young and he knew he seemed innocent, but he had a natural talent for sucking cock; or so he’d been told. And he put that talent to work now, bobbing his head over Akira’s cock and pulling out all his tricks as he dug his nails into the blond’s thighs gently. “Fuck yes,” Akira moaned and Takanori glanced up, seeing the moon lighting up the blond’s features and the pleasure written all over it. Akira was clearly enjoying himself very much.

 

Takanori felt Akira’s hand tighten in his hair a little and it made him groan quietly as he let Akira’s cock slide from between his lips, dragging his tongue along the solid length before flicking against the tip. “You can fuck my mouth, if you want,” Takanori said, swirling his tongue around the tip.

 

“Shit, seriously?” Akira asked, lifting his head and looking down at Takanori in wonder.

 

“Mhmm, I can handle it,” Takanori smirked, lowering himself once more. Akira didn’t need to be told twice; as Takanori went back to bobbing his head, sucking so wonderfully on the blond’slength, Akira tightened the fingers in his hair a little more and began to guide Takanori’s head. It felt like Akira got a little carried away, because soon enough he had his feet planted against the bed, thrusting his hips up in small jerks toward Takanori’s mouth. The smaller man let Akira do as he pleased, doing his best to move his tongue against the blond’s cock and suck him into tomorrow.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Takanori… wait,” Akira panted after a while, hips stopping their jerking and his hand gently pushing the smaller man away from him. “I’m gonna come too soon if you keep going.” Akira smiled, sitting up a little and pulling Takanori up with him. The brunet fell against Akira, kissing him and running his fingers through that silky hair once more as he rolled them over, pressing Takanori into the mattress. “It’s my turn to make you squirm now.”

 

Takanori pressed his head into the pillow, adjusting himself and letting his thighs fall apart as Akira lowered himself down, pressing kisses over his collarbone and chest as he went. The brunet arched as Akira’s tongue dragged over one nipple and then the other before continuing further south. Although, much to Takanori’s surprise, Akira didn’t stop at his dick, he didn’t lavish Takanori with the attention the brunet had given him. Instead, Akira continued… further and Takanori gasped when he figured out just where Akira was going. Hands grasped the underside of his thighs and pushed them up, putting him on display for Akira as the blond kissed down over his thighs, his backside and even lower.

 

The light brush of a tongue over his entrance made the smaller man twitch and he tilted his head back, letting out a breathy little moan. “Oh fuck…” Takanori breathed. He had only ever been rimmed a few times in his life, but it had always felt so amazing and now was no exception. A shiver went through Takanori’s entire body when Akira’s tongue flattened against his entrance, pressing and touching and moving in just the right way. Not only that, but Akira’s hand found its way around to Takanori’s cock, stroking lightly as he pressed his tongue to the brunet’s entrance, driving Takanori absolutely crazy.

 

The feeling heightened when the blond pressed his tongue a little more firmly against Takanori, his hand tightening just a little and making the smaller man twitch. Takanori tangled his fingers into the sheet beside him as Akira’s tongue sped up and he could feel the rapid movement of the blond’s tongue against his cheeks as Akira ate him out like he’d _never_ been eaten out before.

 

“A-Ah… Akira, oh fuck, oh fuck-oh fuck-oh _fuck_!” Takanori cried, arched against the blond’s mouth as his thighs twitched a little, threatening to clench against the sides of Akira’s head. Small moans fell from Akira’s lips, sending small vibrations of pleasure towards Takanori’s body, only heightening the sensation of the taller man’s tongue. “ _Oh_ … s-stop. Oh, god, stop!” Takanori yelled, tossing his head to the side as one of his hands flew down to grasp Akira’s hair. “Akira! Akira- _ah_! I- I’m… I’ll-!” Akira wasn’t listening though; if anything he upped the effort of both his hand and his mouth. Although his hand barely had to do anything, Takanori could have come just from Akira’s tongue alone. And he almost did. Because his hips jerked up when he started coming, dislodging Akira’s hand from his cock as his tongue continued to work, drawing shudder after shudder out of Takanori’s body as the brunet finished coming.

 

Only when Takanori had gone limp against the bed did Akira finally move away, crawling back up over Takanori’s body to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Arsehole…” Takanori groaned, weakly punching Akira’s shoulder.

 

He was still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm when Akira’s fingers dragged down over his abdomen, catching some of his come on the way down and spreading it over his poor, sensitive entrance. “Think you can go again?” Akira asked, kissing Takanori’s neck and digging his teeth in gently, making the brunet whine quietly as he twitched.

 

“Mn, gimme a minute…” he murmured, turning his head to catch Akira’s lips with his own. He could tell the blond was cautious about kissing Takanori on the mouth, considering where his own had just been. But Takanori didn’t give a fuck, he’d only just showered so he was perfectly clean.

 

Chuckling, Akira kissed him back before he went back to the smaller man’s neck. Takanori let Akira just dwell there for a while so he could gather himself, overcome the aftershocks of his first orgasm and clear his head a little. Not too much though, he still let the haze of lust linger around; so much so that when Akira kissed and sucked his neck, hand wandering down to slowly coax his cock back to life it responded, hardening again. Akira kept going, slowly jerking Takanori back to life, gently running his thumb over the tip a few times just to get those – apparently – cute little noises out of him. Akira murmured something about him being cute, so Takanori assumed that was what he meant.

 

“Mm, there’s lube and condoms in the bedside table,” Takanori told Akira, pressing his hips up against the blond’s hand.

 

Leaning over him, Akira opened up the drawer, pulling out the small bottle and the familiar little square. Dropping the latter down on the bed beside them, Akira smirked as he sat up between Takanori’s legs and the brunet felt his heart skip a little beat at the devilish look in Akira’s dark eyes. The blond didn’t say anything as hepopped open the cap on the bottle and poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and Takanori bit his lip as he watched Akira lower his hand. Tilting his head back a little, Takanori sighed as Akira spread the lube over his entrance. Thankfully, one finger pressed in easily considering he was already pretty relaxed. Taking that into consideration, Akira clearly didn’t spend long on just the one finger and soon he pressed a second one in, making Takanori groan and squirm a little.

 

After quiet reassurance that he was alright, Akira pressed his fingers in to the second knuckle before he drew them back, pressing them forward once more, slowly opening the brunet up. It didn’t take Takanori long to get used to Akira’s fingers and soon enough he was pressing down against them, grinding his hips against the blond’s hand and letting out small moans. “More…” Takanori groaned, biting his kiss swollen bottom lip as he stared up at Akira.

 

The blond smirked, slowly but surely working a third finger into the smaller man. Takanori threw his head back when Akira pressed in, curling his fingers up to rub his fingertips over the brunet’s prostate. “ _Ah!_ ” Takanori cried, hips twitching a little as Akira drew his fingers back and thrust them forward again. “Oh, yes…” He moaned as the blond’s hand sped up, pumping faster and faster until he was practically fucking Takanori on his fingers and it was driving the smaller man absolutely insane. “ _Akira_! Oh my… a-ah! Fuck… fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Please, oh… _fuck_.” Takanori was babbling now, but with Akira’s fingertips hitting his prostate with every single thrust it was hard for him not to.

 

Takanori whined when the blond slowed down and withdrew, lifting his head to send him a pleading look. “Don’t worry,” Akira said, his voice husky and deep as he leaned over Takanori, placing a little kiss against his lips as he grabbed the condom off the bed. “I’m not gonna be stopping anytime soon.” He smirked, tearing open the packet and rolling the rubber onto his aching erection. Takanori watched with bated breath as Akira smeared a little more lube onto his cock and wiped the excess against the brunet’s entrance before he lined himself up. “Relax, baby… Relax and I’ll fuck you so fucking hard.”

 

“Nnh…” Takanori’s mouth dropped open as Akira’s length _finally_ sunk home, the blond’s hips slotting against Takanori’s backside easily. “Oh fuck… feels so good,” he smiled, blinking up at Akira in a bit of a daze. “Mn. C’mon then, big boy… _fuck me_.”

 

A devilish smirk pulled at Akira’s lips, matching the look in his eye, and once he’d waited a moment or two to let Takanori relax and adapt, he pulled his hips back, slowly drawing his cock out until just the tip remained inside of the smaller man. Takanori’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he readied himself, and as soon as Akira’s hips snapped forwards the brunet’s back arched off the bed and he let out a cry. Akira’s hips began hammering away, forcing Takanori to have to scramble for purchase, grabbing onto the sheets with one hand and Akira’s bicep with the other.

 

Takanori could feel Akira’s muscles rippling under his fingers, feel his breaths as he panted, slamming his hips forward over and over again. Takanori had never found anyone so sexy in his entire life. With every thrust Akira threw towards him the head of his cock made contact with Takanori’s sweet spot, making him squirm and arch off the bed, fingernails digging into Akira’s arm rather hard. But the blond didn’t seem to mind, in fact, it only drove him onward.

 

“So tight, Taka… fuck, you feel so good,” Akira grunted, leaning down further over the brunet’s body. His arms must have gotten tired, because soon enough he was falling to the side, manhandling Takanori around until the brunet’s back was pressed to Akira’s chest – kind of like they were spooning. Akira hooked his arm under Takanori’s thigh and lifted his leg up, spreading him wide – and at this point in time he was glad that dancing had made him so fucking flexible, because it made the position for easier for him – as Akira pierced him with his length once more. Takanori cried out, reaching back and tangling his fingers into Akira’s hair and tugging as the taller man drove into him over and over.

 

“Akira… A-Aki… I’m- I can’t… ho-hold… _ngh_!” Takanori whined, a tear forming at the corner of his eye as his hips twitched. He was getting so close already, his body becoming oversensitive with every strong hit to his prostate. “Please! Please, oh fuck… Akira!”

 

“That’s it, baby,” Akira panted in his ear, pressing his face against brunet’s neck. “Come for me, Taka. Say my name, scream. I wanna hear who’s making you feel _so_ fucking good…”

 

Akira’s husky voice in his ear really wasn’t helping Takanori’s situation and he didn’t even need anything to touch his cock. Because with Akira ploughing into him, his prostate beyond stimulated and the sensitivity of his body he was sent over the edge easily enough. “A _KIRA!!_ ” He practically screamed, his nails digging into Akira’s hair and pulling as arched his back, body twitching uncontrollably as he came against his bed and his abdomen.

 

Akira kept going, kept throwing his hips up over and over, his hand tightening against Takanori’s thigh and he pressed his nose into the brunet’s neck, teeth digging into his pale skin as his hips finally stuttered. Akira came with a growl of Takanori’s name, panting hard against his skin, rolling his hips slowly as he finished himself off. Slowly, Akira came to a stop, falling slightly limp behind Takanori as he breathed heavily against the brunet, placing small kisses on his clammy skin.

 

“My god…” Takanori murmured, wincing when Akira’s spent cock slipped free. Rolling over, Takanori came face to face with Akira and he smiled a little dazedly. He had just… they had just slept together. That really happened. Akira had just fucked his brains out. Honestly, that was the best sex Takanori had _ever_ had; not that he had ever really had _a lot_ of sex. But Akira was definitely the best. The brunet bit his lip and dipped his head down a little, his cheeks still flushed.

 

Above him, he could hear Akira chuckle as he leaned down and pressed a small kiss to the top of Takanori’s head before he pulled away and sat up. Takanori was pretty sure he was far too gooey-limbed to get up and do anything, so he just lay there, watching as Akira pulled off his condom, tied it and threw it away. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, coming back a moment later with a wet washcloth where he proceeded to clean himself, Takanori and the bed up before he tossed the cloth aside and slid back into bed.

 

Takanori smiled as Akira embraced him from behind, naked body pressed up against his back and his arm around the smaller man’s waist. After that it was insanely easy to fall asleep, for both of them Takanori assumed; because soon enough he could hear Akira’s breaths deepen and even out, a fair indication that he was well and truly asleep. Takanori followed not long after him, finally slipping into blissful, blissful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a week later~ Chapter 3 will be up in another week. Enjoy!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Let me know what you think ^^


	3. Chapter 3

After that night things were kind of… normal. Takanori and Akira still texted, Akira still waited for Takanori outside the studio two or three times a week. It seemed like the world had just gone back to normal, and so Takanori guessed that that was just how he was supposed to act. So… he did. He just acted normal, like nothing had happened between them, like Akira hadn’t given him the best two orgasms of his entire life. Akira seemed to have moved on nevertheless and so Takanori moved on too. Besides, it wasn’t like he had time for any kind of relationship anyway… with his final assignment coming up, having to choreograph his own routine and perform it at the end of year performance where he’d receive his final grade. It was insanely heavily weighted too. Beyond that he had his job to worry about and maintaining some kind of social life with friends was hard enough, let alone a relationship.

 

But it didn’t matter, because Akira clearly didn’t have any kind of intention of starting something. Plus, if Takanori spent too long thinking about it, he knew he would end up in too deep. And he couldn’t afford that, he needed to stay focused. _Eyes on the prize, Takanori. Eyes on the prize._ So Takanori blocked it out, blocked out those potential feelings and everything that came with them. Akira was his friend… nothing more than that.

 

*            *            *

 

“Again,” Ms. Nakamara barked, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “This time get a little more lift in your jump, your left foot is looking a little lazy. You need to follow through completely or you are going to fall, Takanori.”

 

“Yes, madam,” Takanori said, bowing his head as he moved back to the side of the room, beginning his routine again. He had been working on this piece for weeks, spending extended hours in the studio, working over-time and even cancelling a few shifts at work to keep practicing. He wanted to get this piece absolutely right for the final performance. Ms. Nakamara had chosen a performance for him, something classical and very technical. Usually students had to choose their own piece, or choreograph it. But not Ms. Nakamara’s students, everyone knew that she chose for them and her students always did very well; so Takanori had let her choose his piece as well, despite him wanting to do something a little more contemporary.

 

“Good,” the woman hummed, pacing slowly as she watched Takanori perform his routine, counting quietly to keep him in time. “Good. And… follow through with your left foot… Good! Better,” she said, nodding. Despite the fact that she was praising him, she still looked as though she had smelled something bad. Or maybe had something shoved up her arse. “And 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and…” She counted, stressing the accented steps as they coincided with the numbers.

 

Takanori panted as he finished his last plié, holding his arms out in his final pose, his chest rising and falling rapidly. After holding it for a few seconds he relaxed, letting his arms drop to his side as he sucked in deep breaths. “Much better. If you keep working you might actually do well,” Ms. Nakamara said, her nose slightly upturned as she walked over to the chair in the corner of the room, picking up her handbag. “I will leave you to it, Takanori. Keep working, I will see you in three days.” With that, she left the room, leaving Takanori standing in the middle of it, still panting hard.

 

Sighing, the brunet brushed a stray hair away from his face before he walked over and snatched up his water bottle. If he was being totally honest, he hated this routine. His heart just really wasn’t in it. It wasn’t his style, it wasn’t how he wanted to dance. But… Ms. Nakamara was convinced this routine would get him a good grade, it was what the judges wanted to see. Plus, no one _ever_ went against what Ms. Nakamara said. That was paramount to suicide in the academy.

 

Resuming his practice, Takanori went through the routine over and over and over again, pushing himself until sweat was dripping down his forehead and his feet were aching beyond belief. But he had to prove himself, he had to get this routine right. He knew that he wasn’t always going to get to dance the way he wanted, so he just had to suck it up and keep going, get this routine perfect and get the grades that would allow him entry into the National Ballet of Japan. However, his practice was cut short when long loud claps resounded throughout the room, stopping Takanori’s performance in its tracks and he spun around to find Akira standing in the doorway of the practice room, clapping loudly as a smirk pulled at his lips. As usual he was dressed in his black jeans and it seemed as though he had finally managed to find himself a new leather jacket. It wasn’t as nice as the other one, which had some wear and tear that added a lot of character to it. But it was still nice.

 

“Akira,” Takanori panted, tucking that same piece of hair behind his ear. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be inside.”

 

“Nice to see you too, Princess,” Akira chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and wandering inside. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you actually dance in the, what… six months or so since we met?” Akira asked, raising his eyebrows. He came to a stop in front of Takanori, looking down at him and tilting his head a little as he smiled. “I came because you’re late; I’ve been waiting outside for almost three hours. I worried that maybe that witch lady had locked you in a cupboard or something like that,” Akira chuckled. Takanori had told him a couple of times about Ms. Nakamara and Akira had decided very quickly that he didn’t like her. “Besides,” Akira continued. “I’ve been seeing less and less of you lately, you’ve been here so often and if you haven’t been here you’ve been sleeping or at work.”

 

Takanori’s breath was slowly starting to calm down and he took a few deep breaths, finally managing to calm himself enough that he could talk without having to take a breath every few words. “Yeah… sorry, this end of year performance is really keeping me busy,” Takanori said, shaking his head. “And the routine is a pain in the arse. It doesn’t help that I’m not really into it, so it’s making it even harder to get perfect.”

 

Turning, Takanori walked back to where all of his stuff was set down. He plopped himself down on the ground, groaning as he began to undo his shoes. His feet were so fucking sore, he felt like they were about to fall right off. Sighing, Takanori winced as he took his shoes off, massaging his sore feet. He had a few red spots and his toes were kind of red and swollen. He had a few little cuts on them too, both old and new, that were weeping blood. The brunet hissed, tugging the tape off one of his feet to examine the bruises underneath; those were also really fucking sore.

 

“Shit…” Akira hummed, coming up behind Takanori and crouching down beside him. “Dancing really does that to your feet?” He asked, frowning as he put a hand on Takanori’s shoulder.

 

Making a face, Takanori shrugged the hand off, shaking his head a little. “Don’t… it’s too hot for touching,” Takanori sighed. “And yes, dancing really does this to my feet. It’s unavoidable, every ballet dancer’s feet look like this,” the brunet sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out his socks, slipping them onto his feet before he started to put on his sneakers.

 

“What’s up with you…?” Akira asked, moving back a little and standing up as he watched the smaller man get himself ready to leave. “You’re real grouchy today.”

 

“I’m not-” Takanori sighed, stopping himself from snapping at the blond. Shaking his head once more, Takanori pulled his shirt over his head and tugged on his sweatpants before stuffing his ballet shoes, water bottle and towel back into his bag and getting up off the ground. “I’m not grouchy, alright? I just… I’ve had a shitty day and this routine is really stressing me the fuck out. Ms. Nakamara just keeps riding my arse about it not being good enough, not perfect, do this better, follow through with your left foot, Takanori, it’s too lazy, Takanori.” The brunet gripped the strap of his bag, his knuckles turning a little white. “I don’t even like this stupid fucking routine. Students are supposed to choose their own routine! But no, Ms. Nakamara had to decide _for_ me.”

 

Akira raised his eyebrows and Takanori knew that the blond had never heard him get so mad about something before. Sure, he got irritated, but he didn’t really ever actually raise his voice about stuff. “Well… why don’t you say no?” Akira asked, shrugging. “Tell her no, that you want to do your own routine. She can’t dictate everything you do forever.”

 

Takanori’s brow creased and he shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. Ms. Nakamara has never had a student get less than 97% on a performance. She’s the key to my perfect score, I can’t go against what she says,” Takanori said. “Saying no to her is like… it’s like suicide. No, I just need to suck it up and get it right, perform it, nail it and then move on,” Takanori said curtly, attempting to walk on past Akira so he could leave and just go home to get rid of this awful mood. “I’ll text you later.”

 

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on, Taka,” Akira said, grabbing Takanori’s upper arm gently, stopping him from walking away. “This is _your_ performance, not her's. Takanori, you need to do what _you_ want to do. Think about it, if you’re into the routine won’t it make you want to practice more? So then you’ll get it right faster and you’ll do even better? Doesn’t that sound like a better plan, rather than doing what Ms. Witch-Lady wants you to do?”

 

Takanori’s brow creased even further as he pulled his arm away from Akira. “Did you not listen to a thing I just said?” He asked, putting his hands on his slim hips. “I told you I couldn’t do that. Ms. Nakamara knows what’s for the best. I trust her to pick a routine that will please the judges and get me a good score. This is my dream, Akira. Not yours,” the brunet stated.

 

Now it was Akira’s turn to frown. Takanori hadn’t ever actually been so vicious towards him, it was a little shocking, Takanori was sure. But he was just _so_ stressed out and frustrated after such a shitty day practicing. “What the hell, man? All I’m trying to do is help you,” Akira said, becoming irritated as well. “I just don’t wanna see you do something you’re gonna hate and then end up not doing as well as you want to.”

 

“Yeah? And why the hell do you care?” Takanori asked, Akira’s irritation only adding to his own at this point in time. “You’re not my boyfriend or anything, Akira. What does it matter to you whether or not I’m happy doing this routine or not?”

 

Akira’s jaw dropped slightly at Takanori, gaping a little. “What the hell crawled up your arse?” Akira growled. “I care because you’re my fucking friend, how about that?” Akira snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I care because I don’t like seeing my friends unhappy. I care because I thought we had some kind of connection, whether it be as a friend or because of that night where you begged me to fuck you and then cuddled with me afterwards. Is that enough of a reason for you?”

 

“No. Not really,” Takanori answered quickly, practically cutting Akira off. Why the hell did Akira have to go and bring up that night?! That wasn’t something they had ever discussed, so why was he bringing it up now? What a ridiculous point to make! “You’re the one who started following me around. All I ever did was give my lighter and then you started showing up outside the studio and fucking following me home! And _you’re_ the one who invited yourself in that night! _You’re_ the one who asked me to get in bed with you! _You’re_ the one who kissed me first! _You’re_ the one who acted like nothing happened, like we didn’t have mind-fucking-blowing sex, like we didn’t have anything!” Takanori yelled, the vein in his neck beginning to stand out a little. “This was all _your_ fault, Akira. Don’t you dare bring that up and pin it on me!”

 

“Oh really?!” Akira asked, his voice also rising in volume. “Because as far as I remember _you’re_ the one who was begging _me_ to fuck you, who was begging me to go harder. And I didn’t act like nothing happened! _You’re_ the one who pushed me away! You made it _very_ clear that there was nothing when you left the next morning before I even woke up and you didn’t even leave any kind of note. _You’re_ the one who denied my offers to hang out time after time after time!” Akira yelled back, getting in Takanori’s face a little.

 

“Denied your offers?!” Takanori practically squawked. “You knew I was too fucking busy! I don’t even know why you bothered!” Takanori leaned away when Akira leaned in, rage coursing through his entire body. “But you know what, we _don’t_ have anything. We never did. You’re just some… weird fucking biker dude who decided to start following me around and showing up outside my school!”

 

Akira’s eyes darkened as he leaned back, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Really…?” He huffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You are un-fucking-believable.” Akira laughed, but it was a sarcastic and disbelieving laugh. “Whatever, Takanori. Do whatever the fuck you want, because I’m done chasing you around. You’re blind to everything but your own feelings and your stupid fucking princess tutus and your Swan Lake bullshit. _Fuck_ you!” Akira spat, shaking his head as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the practice room, slamming the door behind him as he went.

 

“ _FINE!_ ” Takanori screamed as Akira shut the door. “Fuck you too!” The brunet stared after Akira as he left the room, his chest heaving and his heart beating at a million miles per hour. “Fucking arsehole…” Takanori murmured, his hands trembling a little as he hitched the strap of his bag up a little higher, storming his own way out of the room, switching off the lights and locking the door as he went.

 

Walking home alone felt strange, but Takanori tried not to let himself think about that too much. Akira turned out to be just… an arsehole. An utter dick and he’d said a bunch of things that really hurt Takanori. But the more he thought about it the more he realised that what Akira had said was… kind of true. Because now that he thought about it, he did remember Akira offering to meet up and hang out a few times after that night, and Takanori had left him there on his own. But that wasn’t intentional! He’d been running late for practice because he’d overslept! How the hell was he supposed to know how Akira would take that?

 

By the time he got home, Takanori had calmed down enough to realise that he had just had a huge fight with Akira and, really…he was the one who’d started off being a dick. Sure, Akira had reacted by being a dick too. But Takanori was the one who’d acted all snappy and defensive when Akira had only been trying to help. He should have just listened to what Takanori said and moved on though! Takanori really did have a bit of a temper sometimes, and unfortunately tonight had been one of the nights when it bubbled over after weeks of stress and pressure and more stress on top.

 

Plopping down onto his couch, Takanori sighed and dropped his head into his hands, groaning. He was really an arsehole wasn’t he? Pulling out his phone, Takanori checked to see if Akira had actually texted him or not, but there was nothing. Frowning, Takanori opened up his contacts and scrolled down to Akira’s name, his finger hovering over the ‘call’ button. He probably sat like that for a good five or ten minutes before he just said ‘fuck it’ and put his phone away, proceeding to get ready for bed. He had a lot to do over the next few months and he really didn’t have time to be thinking about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes~ So here was chapter 3. I hope you all enjoyed it! The next chapter will be the last one~ Now that I'm not so busy at work this week I'll hopefully be writing for Tokyo Rats and I also have a new idea that I want to start. But that probably will end up being like this fic, where I won't post anything for it until it's totally finished, so at least then I'll be able to post regularly and no one will have to wait XD 
> 
> Anyways~ See you guys next chapter!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song that inspired this entire fic. The song is very relevant in this chapter, so you should listen to it ;) [I Found by Amber Run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA) (Just a reminder, the imagery in the music video really has nothing to do with the fic at all, it's just the song/lyrics)
> 
> And this is the dance that inspired how I wrote Takanori's performance. Definitely watch this one too, it's really, really beautiful. [Sergei Polunin, "Take Me to Church" by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI)
> 
> Enjoy!!

So that was what Takanori did. He threw himself into his work, practicing all day everyday to get this routine perfect and he was slowly but surely getting there. But it was taking so much longer than it normally would for him and his feet were only getting worse and worse. Some days they were so sore he could hardly walk home. Every time Takanori left the studio he still looked over at that lamp post, seeking out a familiar blond clad in a leather jacket and black jeans. But he was never there… Takanori hadn’t heard from Akira since their fight weeks ago. He hadn’t even had a text or a call, but he did his best not to think about that, which was pretty easy considering how much he had to do.

 

But no matter how much he tried, Takanori just couldn’t ignore their fight. He couldn’t stop thinking about it and he couldn’t brush what Akira said under the rug. Because what he’d said had actually made sense, that if Takanori enjoyed what he did that would make him want to do it more, thus making it perfect. Takanori knew he was absolutely right and that was one of the most frustrating things. The brunet spent many long nights thinking about it and reasoning it out in his mind, trying to think rational thoughts, writing out pros and cons about doing his own routine and doing Ms. Nakamara’s routine. But in the end, thinking more and trying to talk sense to himself was only making him lose his mind further.

 

So in the end, three weeks before the big performance, Takanori marched into Ms. Nakamara’s office with his head held high in an attempt to seem more confident. But in the back of his mind, he was freaking the _fuck_ out. But he cleared his throat nonetheless and announced his arrival to his dance teacher. “Ms. Nakamara,” he said and she looked up at him from her paperwork, peering at him over the top of her glasses with an expectant look on her unkind, angular face. “I… um, I’d like to change my routine for the end of year performance,” he stated, attempting to sound as confident and final as he possibly could.

 

The woman in front him stayed deadly silent for what felt like an entire lifetime, her face unmoving as she stared at him and Takanori swore… if looks could kill he would have been dead thirty seconds ago. “You want to what?” She finally asked, ice creeping into her voice as she pinned him with a venomous stare.

 

“I want to change my routine. I… I want to do my own routine,” he stated, his voice much less confident this time around. “I just can’t seem to find my footing in the routine you set for me, it’s not my passion and it’s not what I want to dance. I want to try something more contemporary,” Takanori finished with a little bow of his head. “I’m sorry; I mean no disrespect to you…”

 

Ms. Nakamara stared at him once more, her eyebrows raised slightly and she slowly leaned back, taking her glasses off her face and setting them down on top of her paperwork. “You’ve always been one to want to follow your own path,” she stated and Takanori thought that maybe… just maybe he had somehow gotten away with wanting to do this! Maybe she was going to be ok with him changing!! “I only have one thing to say to you, Takanori Matsumoto…” The brunet held his breath, biting the inside of his cheek as he waited for what she had to say. “I hope you’re prepared for failure.”

 

And Takanori’s chest fell.

 

*            *            *

 

After his conversation with Ms. Nakamara, Takanori had left her office just before he broke down into tears. All he wanted to do right now was crawl into a corner and break down. Akira had pushed him toward this path and now the stupid arsehole wasn’t even there to help pick him back up! Takanori had sent the blond man a text before he’d gone in to see his teacher and Akira still hadn’t bothered to reply. It was like he had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. Takanori spent a lot of time questioning why the hell he cared so damn much. He knew that he already knew… but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. So he tried to reason with himself and make up some kind of excuse.

 

But in the end… Takanori had decided that he didn’t need Akira there and he didn’t need Ms. Nakamara’s approval. He could get a perfect score on his own. So rather than think things through too much, he set his training into motion. From that day onwards, for the following three weeks, Takanori practically lived at the studio. He cancelled all of his shifts at work leading up to the performance so he could do nothing but dance and dance and dance. Unlike his previous routine, Takanori was insanely proud of this one because it was one he had worked on himself, choreographed himself, and chosen the music for himself. He had put his blood sweat and tears into that routine and in the end… he thought it was perfect.

 

The night before the show, Takanori paced back and forth in his living room, phone in hand with a message on the screen that he had spent hours and hours writing. The name at the top of the screen… _Akira_. Takanori had been pacing for what felt like forever, writing and erasing and rewriting text after text. It had been months since Takanori had heard from Akira. It sucked… because Takanori never thought that their fight would end up like this. He had sent a few texts Akira’s way, but he hadn’t answered to any of them. Takanori had even tried calling him once and it had gone straight to voicemail! It was obvious that Akira really didn’t want to talk to him… and that hurt far more than what Takanori ever thought it would.

 

If he was being completely honest with himself… he missed the blond. He missed having him to walk home with, he missed having him waiting outside the studio, he missed sharing a cigarette as they walked along, and most of all… he just missed having someone there who got him. He missed Akira.

 

**To** : _Akira_  
**From** : _Takanori_

**8:47pm**

Hey… It’s me. So, tomorrow is my final performance and I ended up changing my routine, just like you suggested. You were right. It was a lot easier to work on. Anyway, I just wanted to formally invite you to come, I’ll leave your name at the door and have a seat reserved for you. I’m on at 7:30pm. I’ll send you the address, and then maybe afterwards we could talk?

Taka

 

Takanori hit send, feeling like his heart had just leapt into his throat. Fuck… he really hoped Akira showed up. But… well, Takanori really wasn’t sure if he would. He could only hope.

 

*            *            *

 

“How long are you gonna keep staring at that damn text?” Kouyou asked as he took his cigarette from between his lips, blowing out a cloud of smoke into the air outside as he perched himself on the window sill. “You’ve been checking your phone every five minute for the last four hours. No matter how many times you check it the text isn’t gonna go away,” he scoffed, taking another drag from his cigarette.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Kouyou,” Akira grumbled, picking up a sock off the floor and throwing it at his best friend. It was true though… Akira had been looking at his phone almost constantly for the last four or so hours. Since he had shown up at Kouyou’s place. He’d gotten the text from Takanori the night before, having opened it pretty much as soon as he’d gotten it. It was an invitation to the smaller man’s final dance performance and apparently he had ended up changing his song in the end. Akira couldn’t help but feel kind of proud of Takanori… having stood up to that witch lady teacher of his. Honestly, Akira was kind of curious about what song he had chosen, what his dance looked like…

 

But they had ended on such a poor note last time they’d seen one another. Takanori had also made it very, very clear that he didn’t have time for Akira or any semblance of a relationship and that had kind of cut Akira, hurt his feelings a lot. He had really liked Takanori for a long time, but it seemed as though Takanori really had no interest in him at all, or just didn’t pay enough attention to figure it out, and so Akira had decided to back off. He’d made the decision that he would rather have Takanori as a friend than not at all. But in the end… well, they had ended up as not at all anyway.

 

Akira checked the time: 7:04pm. Takanori was probably at the performance hall, getting ready for his final performance. Akira wondered how he was doing, was he nervous? Probably… The blond grunted, pursing his lips as he took his phone out once more.

 

“For fucks sake, Akira. Just fucking go,” Kouyou huffed, putting out his smoke and getting up from the window sill. “I can’t stand you moping around anymore, you’re pathetic. Just… go and see his performance and then talk to the fucker. If he’s anything like you’ve told me then he’s clearly worth it,” his best friend said, walking over to him and dragging him up off the ground.

 

“Oi, Kou… fucking, let me go,” Akira grunted, attempting to brush his friend off.

 

“Akira,” Kouyou growled. “You are going to that show and that’s final, you need to stop avoiding him. The fucker has been trying to contact you for months! That obviously means he wants to talk to you about what happened!” Kouyou pushed his shoulders, ushering him in the direction of the door and towards the street.

 

“I don’t _want_ to talk to him, Kou,” Akira protested, still trying to dislodge his friend’s hands from his shoulders. “He made it very, very clear where we stand. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Kouyou growled. “Akira. You are never gonna meet another guy like him. He _told_ you he wants to talk to you! He _wants_ you there, he _wants_ to talk to you, he _wants_ to figure something out. Just. Fucking. Go. Or I will kick your arse all the way there. And… if he rejects you again, you can have your jacket back,” Kouyou said. “Deal?”

 

Akira paused, looking back at his friend and pursing his lips. Go and see Taka… talk to him… win his jacket back… “Deal,” he finally sighed only to receive a shit eating grin from Kouyou and push out the door. “Arsehole,” Akira grumbled as he walked out onto the street. He checked his phone again to see that it was nearing ten minutes past seven. A quick search told him that the performance hall was about twenty-two minutes away by foot. It seemed like there was too much traffic for him to get a taxi, it would take even longer, and there was no point in walking to the train station because that would take him even longer than the fucking taxi.

 

“Shit,” Akira growled as he broke out into a run, heading in the direction of the hall.

 

*            *            *

 

**7:24pm**.

 

Takanori peeked out from behind the curtain for what felt like the millionth time only to see that seat A-16 was still empty. Takanori had reserved Akira a spot in the middle of the front row, where he would have a good view of everything and where Takanori would be able to see him as well. But as of right now, six minutes before he was supposed to go on, that seat was still empty.

 

With every single minute that passed, Takanori lost hope that Akira would actually show up. The brunet felt tears begin to well in the corners of his eyes. This felt like the final nail in the coffin. Akira was gone… Takanori had ignored his feelings for the blond man when he had been around and now that he was gone, there was no one for Takanori to tell. Akira was gone, Takanori had pushed him as far away as he possibly could’ve and he really hated himself for that.

 

**7:29pm**.

 

“Matsumoto, you’re up next,” a stagehand called out to the brunet, who sucked in a deep breath and nodded his understanding before he moved over to the side of the stage ready to enter. The lights dimmed in the hall and Takanori took that as his queue, walking out onto the stage and taking his position. A quick glance up revealed that A-16 was _still_ empty.

 

Well… this was it…

 

The song began; a few chords on the piano, which Takanori stayed still for before the singer’s voice sounded, signalling for his routine to begin. Lifting his arms gracefully, he shifted his feet and glided across the stage, the spotlight following him wherever he moved.

 

_And I’ll use you as a warning sign…_

 

Takanori moved across the stage once more, his head held high and his arms outstretched, making his figure as long and lean as he could. Bending his knees, he left the ground, his feet coming together in an assemblé before he made his landing once more.

 

_That if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind…_

 

Takanori felt the music course through him, he let it take him on the journey that his routine described. His performance was a story, from start to finish. Every movement had a purpose, every gesture had meaning, the expression on his face held the key to unlocking the full story. One needed to pay complete attention to the performance and that was what Takanori wanted. He wanted to captivate his audience. He wanted them to see him, see his story, see his emotions. He didn’t want them to just watch another regurgitated version of some ballet that people had been doing for the last two hundred years. Yes, he knew they were “the classics” and whatnot. But it was time to move forward…

 

_And I moved further then I thought I could…_

_But I missed you more than I thought I would…_

 

Takanori shut his eyes, tilting his head back as he ran his hands from his neck, down his chest and over his chest before he swung his body, leaping into the air and tossing his hair to the side. Stretching himself out wide once more, Takanori threw his body into a pirouette before leaping into a grand jeté.

 

_But I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be…_

_Right in front of me…_

_Talk some sense to me…_

*            *            *

 

**7:31pm**.

 

Akira panted as he arrived at the doorstep into the hall. He could hear music beginning to play inside and he knew that Takanori’s performance had probably already started. Murmuring his name to the man at the door, he was pointed in the direction of his seat, shocked to find that it was in the very middle of the front row. But… well, the row was pretty much already full. Akira didn’t want to be the arsehole that had to push through in front of everyone while they were trying to watch. Just because he had shown up late.

 

So instead of pushing his way through, he sat down on the stairs in the walkway. His eyes stayed glued to Takanori as the smaller man glided across the stage, his movements so beyond elegant. Akira swore, he almost looked ethereal up there. The lights on him… the loose white material of his shirt, his hair brushing his shoulders in a soft halo, his expression… Akira frowned, seeing the pain on his face.

 

_And I’ll use you as a makeshift gauge…_

_Of how much to give and how much to take…_

Akira watched as Takanori tossed his body about the stage. At times the dance was jerky and rough, others it was slow and soft, and even more than that… there were times when it was almost sensual. Takanori would run his hands over his body, down to his hips before he dove into more jerky movement, like he was being tossed around. By what… Akira wasn’t quite sure. But he had a feeling it was something very emotional to Takanori. It could have to do with him, it could also have to do with that witch lady dictating his dancing for so long, it could have to do with Takanori’s parents – who, he’d shared with Akira, didn’t really like him all that much.

 

_And I’ll use you as a warning sign…_

_That if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind…_

 

As the dance went on, Takanori’s expression never really changed completely. It was always somewhat pained, even during the soft or sensual parts of the dance. There was always a hidden pain behind his expression, like he was fighting with himself in a way, struggling to let himself feel things freely. Akira wasn’t sure if he was getting any of this right, but that was just what he was drawing from the performance. Either way though… it was mesmerising.

 

_But I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be…_

_Right in front of me…_

_Talk some sense to me…_

*            *            *

 

By the time the music came to an end, Takanori’s chest was heaving, his breath heady as he looked down at the ground where he kneeled. It took the cheer of the crowd to draw him out of his haze. Looking up, he could see that every single person in the room was on their feet, cheering and applauding for him. They’d liked it… they’d really liked it! A little smile pulled at Takanori’s lips as he slowly got up from the ground, taking his bow.

 

He couldn’t help it… he let his eyes stray over to A-16.

 

Still empty.

 

Takanori’s smile fell and his shoulders slumped slightly. So Akira really hadn’t come. Takanori forced a smile onto his face and took his last bow before he left the stage. There was a stagehand back there waiting to hand him a towel and a bottle of water, but Takanori didn’t take it. He walked straight past the stagehand and made a beeline for his dressing room.

 

As soon as he was in his room, the door having slammed shut behind him, Takanori put his hand over his mouth to muffle a small sob, tears welling up and spilling over his cheeks. He’d had some kind of ray of hope that Akira might come. But he hadn’t… he really didn’t care about Takanori, he didn’t give a fuck that he’d changed his performance, he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want anything to do with the brunet anymore. That hurt more than Takanori could have ever expected it to. He sobbed, leaning over and putting his hand on the counter as tears dripping onto the wooden counter.

 

A knock on the door made him quiet down a little and Takanori shook his head, sucking in a deep breath before he called out. “Go away!” He didn’t want to see anyone right now, regardless of who it was. It would be the fucking prime minister, the head of the National Ballet of Japan, Takanori didn’t give a flying fuck. The knock came again and Takanori growled. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, fuck off!”

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Takanori wanted to punch something… the counter, a wall, a person; anything would do. There was a soft click behind him and Takanori curled his hand into a fist. “Are you fucking stupid or do you just have a death wish?” He growled. “What don’t you understand about _fuck_ _o_ -”

 

“Takanori.”

 

The brunet froze, opening his eyes as he looked up at the mirror in front of him. And, sure enough… there was Akira, standing behind him. He looked just as perfect as he always had, his hair was tousled, his jacket hanging open, his jeans baggy but in the most prefect way. His expression was unreadable. It looked like something between hesitation, pity, empathy and anticipation.

 

“Taka…”

 

“You came,” Takanori sobbed, finally turning around to actually face the blond man. “I didn’t think you would. I thought you…” Takanori sighed, shaking his head and reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again. You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls… you haven’t been around whenever I leave the studio. You haven’t made any kind of attempt to contact me.” Takanori shook his head, sniffling quietly. Akira was quiet and Takanori could see him just… standing there, waiting for him to finish. Takanori’s shoulders trembled. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, fresh tears welling up and dripping. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve never been so horrible to you. I should’ve never said what I did… I didn’t mean it. I was just mad and stressed and…” Takanori let out a puff of breath, sobbing before he swallowed thickly.

 

“Taka…” Akira said again, taking a small step forward.

 

“Can you say _something_ else besides my name? God…” Takanori sighed, lowering his head. “You’re killing me.”

 

Takanori heard Akira chuckle softly before the taller man came to a standstill in front of him. Takanori really wasn’t sure what to expect; was Akira going to punch him? Say something? Just stand there and stare at him and say his name some more? But the brunet blinked when Akira’s fingers slid beneath his chin, lifting his head up so Takanori really had no choice but to look at him. Akira rose his other hand and Takanori shut his eyes when the blond swiped his thumb over Takanori’s cheek, wiping away his tears.

 

“I saw your performance. You were incredible. And… I’m sorry too,” Akira finally said and Takanori opened his eyes, looking back up at the blond. Akira’s smile was kind and soft and it made Takanori’s chest flutter in a way that it really shouldn’t. “I’m sorry about what I said. I was mad as well… And I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I just thought that you wouldn’t want to see me again after what I said to you, and I really didn’t think you were interested in anything between us… but I think that maybe that’s not true,” Akira chuckled, one arm gently snaking around Takanori’s waist to draw him a little closer.

 

The smaller blond nodded, a small smile tugging at his own lips. “Yeah… I mean no… it’s not true,” Takanori said, sniffled. “I didn’t want to think about… my feelings. Because I was just so obsessed with my dancing and I just…I had my blinkers on. I couldn’t see anything, not even the way I was treating you. I never meant to come across the way that I did. I didn’t mean-”

 

“Shh,” Akira hushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. “I know,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I think everyone saw your feelings long before you did. But you got there in the end, right?” Akira asked, tilting his head to the side a little.

 

“I mean… yeah. Only after I was a real dick to you,” Takanori pointed out. “But… now that you’re here, I can finally tell you.” Takanori reached up, looping his arm around Akira’s neck as he stood on his tip toes – his ballet shoes kind of helping him with that. “I love you, Akira. I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

 

Akira smiled, tightening his arm around Takanori’s waist and holding him a little closer when he leaned up. “I love you too,” Akira answered. “Now c’mere,” he grinned, pulling Takanori in the final little distance to press his lips against the smaller man’s. Akira kissed Takanori like he had wanted to kiss him for months, stealing his breath away. “Don’t think you’re off the hook though,” Akira murmured against Takanori’s lips. “You still hurt my feelings and I’m not going to let you get away with being such a dick. You’re gonna have to do some serious sucking up. And just… sucking in general.” Akira chuckled, with which Takanori merely shook his head, pulling Akira in for another kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes! That's a wrap!! I really hope everyone enjoyed this fic, I know that I really enjoyed writing it and I hope I can write more like it in the future. Comment and let me know what you all thought!! ^^ 
> 
> See you guys in the next one~~

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are love~


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